Everyone's Waiting
by Moonsp1r1t
Summary: The playable assassin's thoughts, emotions, and reactions when it comes to be time for their death.
1. Chapter 1: Desmond

**December 21, 2012**

I was laying on something flat and textureless, my body spread-eagled, limbs sticking out at strange angles. It was neither hot nor cool, yet it was undeniably there, although I had no memory of where I was or where I happened to be. One of the first things I noticed, however, was a strange stillness that had settled over me and my surroundings.

My eyes were shut tight, and my head was throbbing dully, like it did when I got out of the Animus. Not only that, but my right hand seemed to be the epicenter of waves of pain that were shooting up my arm; it felt like I had been burned, badly.

For a moment, I briefly wondered if I was experiencing the Bleeding Effect again, before the events of the Grand Temple came rushing back to me, in a nauseating, vivid swirl of colors. I grimaced, and cursed aloud.

"Does that mean I'm dead?" I wondered, still speaking out loud, reaching up my left hand to my still pulsating head and gently rubbing my temple.

"I'm afraid so, _mio amico._" said a masculine voice gruffly, with a thick Italian accent

I froze, and my eyes snapped open. I sat bolt upright, and looked around. Three people surrounded me as I sit in the floor of the Grand Temple, marble-white fog rolling in on us from all sides, the site of my death slowly fading from view. The three ancestors who's lived I have relived watched me carefully as I took in my surroundings.

Altaïr was wearing his Master Assassins' robes, and standing a little off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. His hood was drawn up and his face clear of any emotion, both not unusual for him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had his hood down, his dark, shoulder-length hair in a pony tail. His eyebrows were raised slightly, taking in the scene before him, his brown eyes trained on my own as they looked at him. I realized that there was something different about him, before I realized that he looked older than he had been in the memories I had relived.

Ezio was crouched next to about where my head was when I was laying down. He looked like he was in his early twenties again, maybe about twenty two, despite the fact he was wearing the gray robes he wore in his fifties. He was watching me intently, appraising me as I appraised him, a worried, almost pitying expression on his face.

So, of course, intelligently, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You can speak English?"

Ezio shrugged. "Sort of. I can speak enough to communicate when necessary, but he's," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Connor. "the only one that's completely fluent."

"It is an assassin's job to blend into every environment, so we were to learn the basics of many languages." Altaïr cut in flatly, much to my surprise.

"How are you feeling?" Connor asked cautiously, looking down at me.

I paused for a moment, evaluating. The white fog had completely obscured the Grand Temple from view, and the pain in my hand had faded to a dull ache. I shot a glance at it to see that it looked like it had indeed been burned, but before my very eyes, the burns were fading back into my normal skin tone.

"Headache-y?" I said slowly.

Connor nodded like he understood, shifting his weight from one leg to another. "It'll pass."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. I met the gaze of each ancestor, or at least what I assumed to be the gaze of Altaïr, as his hood was obscuring his eyes from view. Each of them seemed to be inspecting me as well. Eventually Connor and Altaïr exchanged a glance and moved over to me, each of them grasping one of my arms, and pulled me to my feet as Ezio stood.

"I don't understand." I said, my eyebrows drawn together, "Why are you all here?"

"We've come to collect you." said Ezio, sounding mildly surprised, like I had just asked about something that should have been obvious.

"Collect... me?" I repeated dumbly.

"You've done enough, Desmond." said Ratonhnhaké:ton gently, watching my face for my reaction.

"It's time to rest." Ezio added.

The three assassins turned towards a seemingly random direction in the fog and began to walk. Without hesitating I followed them. We walked in silence for a moment or so, the direction in which we were headed seeming to glow brighter and brighter, although not in an unpleasant way. The light seemed soft and comforting, in a bizarre sort of way.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"On." said Altaïr simply, without looking back.

* * *

Here's the latest story! I got such a positive response from _Assassins Through the Ages_ that I've decided to start another series I've been tossing around in my mind for a little while, a collection of stories of the playable assassin characters and their thoughts and reactions when they were dead or dying. I decided to publish it in reverse chronological order, with the most recent death first (i.e, Desmond's death, obviously), and ending with the oldest death first. Because of this I am going to be putting the dates of the deaths at the very top in the beginning of each story, to make it easier for everyone to keep track. Most of these are canon, accept for Connor's, because we don't really know much about what happened for him past age twenty-eight.

Now, I know just about everyone has different views on what the afterlife may be like, or if there is even one at all, but please try to keep an open mind while reading these stories. I am writing this for fun, and not to open some big debate about what's going to happen after we die. Otherwise, please leave me a comment and tell me what you liked. I always appreciate getting feedback on my work.

And I know this chapter was kind of boring, but I promise you it will get more exciting soon. :)


	2. Chapter 2: Ratonhnhake:ton

**July 28th, 1811**

I thought about them every day. I would wonder if they were okay, fear for their safety, and wish desperately that things were different.

"_How old is she now?_" I would wonder, "_Twenty? Twenty-one?_"

I had met Caroline when I was thirty and she was twenty eight. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her wavy red hair made her stand out in a crowd, and her blue eyes would shine like starlight. When she spoke, her voice was smooth and melodic, her accent vaguely Scottish. I loved her very much, but because of this I had to leave.

I feared for her safety. She was already being taunted openly in the streets for marrying "a half-breed savage." I was worried that people would start beating her in the streets, or worse. Not only that, but there was me life as an assassin to worry about. I didn't want our enemies to target them to get to me.

So I talked her into relocating in Boston, where the people didn't know us, and I left them behind. My wife and my daughter, my beautiful little Irene. I let them believe I was dead, although whenever I found myself in the city, I would check on them. Caroline never remarried, and I noticed that she kept the name Kenway.

Irene was also very beautiful. Luckily, she didn't take after me, so she wasn't scorned by the people around her for being related to the Kanien'kehá:ka. Rather, she had her mother's pale skin and blue eyes. She had my father's brown hair, although it was wavy like Caroline's. I never really spoke to her, being as young as she was when I had to leave.

I spent most of my time, outside of working with the brotherhood, in the woods near Boston. That way I could at least be semi-close to my family. I made decent money hunting and trading animal meat and pelts, for those who were not too xenophobic to trade with me.

One afternoon I was stalking a deer, a large, young buck that seemed sort of cocky, given how close I was to Boston. I notched an arrow in my bow, taking a deep breath as I drew back the string and aimed. Suddenly the deer's ears pricked up and he scampered away. I cursed under my breath and lowered my bow, putting the arrow back into my quiver.

I didn't have to wonder why the buck ran away, because I heard them too. Not long after my dinner ran away, the four boys of maybe age ten or so crashed into the clearing. I sighed and sat down on my heels, placing my bow back on my back.

I watched the boys play for a little while, as they "sword-fought" with sticks they found, and chased each other around. I found myself daydreaming, drifting off into nostalgia, remembering when I was little and playing similar games with Kanen'tó:kon near our village.

Due to these thoughts, I completely missed the sound of a large animal approaching, and the faint growling sound it made. The bear crashed into the clearing, almost immediately spotting the four little boys. It's lips pulled back from its furry maw, revealing large, pointed teeth. It growled at the boys, fixing them with its dull, dark amber eyes. The boys stood huddled together, their eyes wide, trembling. It was one of the biggest bears I had encountered in my life time.

Without thinking, I notched an arrow into my bow, firing it at the bear as I leaped from the bushes. It was only a glancing blow, really, intended to get the attention of the bear, to have him focus on me rather than the children.

I dropped my bow, with the intent of picking it back up later after the battle was finished, and drew my tomahawk, swiftly engaging the bear. Normally, when fighting a bear, you want to be loud and look as big as possible, so that it would see you as a threat. However, that was not an option here because if the bear gave up on me it would immediately attack the children. So I danced around the bear, it's large, clawed paws attempting to bat and scratch at me as I reached for openings to bury my tomahawk in its dark auburn pelt.

At least until I caught sight of the children, who were still huddled on the other side of the clearing. I tore my gaze away from my furry opponent and made eye contact with what seemed to be the eldest child of the four. _Why were they still here!? Do they have no sense!?_

"What are you doing!?" I screamed at them, "RUN!"

They didn't need to be told twice. The children turned tail and ran into the bushes from whence they came. However, as always in battle, getting distracted can be fatal, and my reflexes were not quite as good as when I was young. The bear brought his claws down on my side, neatly parting my flesh, tearing open three long gashes from my waist to my bellybutton. Blood immediately stained my white robes scarlet, and a crimson puddle began to form beneath my boots as it dropped down from my wounds.

I grimaced and tried to block myself from feeling any pain, cursing to the heavens internally. I swung my tomahawk one last time and buried it deep into the bear's skull. The bear collapsed in the puddle of blood that was a mixture between mine and its with a dull thud and a small splash, flecking my robes with even more blood. I wrenched my tomahawk free, and even more blood oozed out of the wound, clumping on the dead bear's skull.

I straightened, and I suddenly felt woozy. Sharp shards of pain spread throughout my body from the wounds, and my vision went blurry. I knew I was going to die. I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it. If I had been younger, there was a very _small_ chance, practically minuscule, that I could temporarily stitch myself up and hobble to the nearest doctor, but I had never been _that_ good at personal first aid, and I fear that if I tried, I would do more harm than good, and ultimately speed up my demise.

I didn't have much time left. I knew that wild animals would likely follow the blood trail, and it would be in everyone's best interest if I got as far away from Boston as possible.

I made my way slowly and painfully away from the city. More and more blood poured out of my wounds as I walked, my vision growing blurry, the edges darkening. Eventually I knew I couldn't make it any farther and collapsed beneath an old pine tree, with younger saplings growing around its trunk.

My breath was coming in gasping wheezes, and I was finding it difficult to think. My blood continued to soak into the pine needles below me. I took a small shaky breath and looked up at the sky, spotting an eagle soaring above. I found myself thinking of my wife and daughter, Caroline and Irene.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, closing my eyes for the last time.

* * *

This one is completely head-canon, because we don't really know how he died. In fact, we don't really know too much about him after age twenty-eight.

Also, he had to pass on his genetic material some how, so I made up Caroline and Irene. I simply looked up names that were common in that time period, and chose random descriptions for the names.


	3. Chapter 3: Edward

**December 3rd, 1735**

I awoke in the middle of the night, my head clouded with sleep. I wasn't aware of what had awoken me, but apparently, whatever it was, it awoke Tessa too. She sat up and looked around the room.

"What was that?" she asked quietly as I leaned over onto my nightstand and lit a lamp.

"I don't know." I whispered, twisting my body around and sliding my legs out of bed.

I slowly, cautiously, start to get dressed. Tessa slipped out of bed as well. She started fiddling aloud with her wardrobe, drawing out a dress to wear. However, we both froze when we heard something from on the other side of our bedroom.

It was a voice, a child's voice, his voice shrill in terror. "MOTHER!" Haytham screamed.

My eyes widened in horror, and I snatched my sword from where it hung on the wall above the bed board. I grabbed the lantern in my other hand and burst onto the landing, half dressed.

I had seconds to take the scene in before me. My son, Haytham, just nine years old, had reached the top of the stairs, on the other side of the landing. Between us, facing me, there was a man wearing a long, black leather waistcoat and a half face mask. He had his sword drawn, and seemed to have been trying to sneak to me and Tessa's room. There was another man, also with his sword drawn and a half-face mask, was running towards the bottom of the stairs, stepping over the bodies of various servants.

"Haytham!" I yelled, scanning him up and down to make sure he was not hurt. Thankfully, he didn't appear to be.

The man on the landing between Haytham and I turned towards my son, his face breaking into a grin as Tessa exited the room behind me. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in the scene before us, the man charging for our son.

"Haytham!" I shouted again, bolting for the man after thrusting my lantern into Tessa's trembling hands.

From across the landing, I saw Haytham give a small, quiet gasp in fear. He turned and started to run back down the stairs, literally running into the man I saw on the lower level at the base of the stairs, just as I caught the first intruder. Haytham ran up to about half way up the stairs, clearly panicked.

I swung my sword, attempting to catch him on the shoulder, but he swung around and blocked my blow with his own sword. We continued on fighting in the darkness, steel clashing against steel, and the occasional grunt whenever one of us managed to hit the other with our fists. Fury was what was motivating me. _No one gets to threaten or hurt my son._

Eventually I managed to step forward and thrust my sword upwards against my opponent's hand, forcing his sword out of it. It landed on the ground with a clatter and skidded a couple of feet away into the darkness. I grabbed the attacker by the collar of his shirt and swung him over the railing of the landing. The man screamed as he fell, but it was abruptly cut short as he hit the floor below with a thud and a sickening crunch.

A third man from below have a shout of what was almost triumph as he ran below the balcony into a room beneath us. The man whom Haytham had run into before, who was about halfway up the stairs, for Haytham had scurried to the top and was standing near Tessa, turned and ran back to the bottom and grabbed the railing, swinging himself around on the railing and left to join his comrade.

My eyes widened as I realized where they were headed. They were going to get my journal, with all the information on _Those Who Came Before_ I had collected over the years. It was in the secret compartment, along with Haytham's sword, in...

"The Games Room." I whispered, although I had no idea how they would know it was there.

I shot one last glance at my family, Haytham looking determinedly brave and Tessa looking petrified with fear, and I realized that Jennifer wasn't there. Vowing to look for her once I dispatched the two enemies in the Games Room, I vaulted over the railing and landed in a roll.

"Edward!" Tessa screamed as I did so.

I ignored her and ran to the Games Room, the Entrance Hall beginning to smell distinctly like smoke, a ghostly orange light starting to flicker on the walls. I cursed.

I reached the door to the Games Room to find that it was already slightly ajar. I thrust it all the way open to find one of the masked men opening the secret compartment on the bookcase, and drawing out my journal.

I leaped forward and attempted to knock the journal out of the intruder's hand with my sword, but he danced out of reach. The other intruder advanced, his sword already drawn, forcing me back into the corner. The other man tucked my journal into his coat before he too drew his sword and entered the fray.

I blocked and hacked and slashed at my opponents as they did the same to me. From out in the Entrance Hall I could hear Tessa give a small cry. I risked a glance outside to see her sprawled on the ground, and Haytham standing above her, watching her, seeming to hesitate. Seeing them reinvigorated my fury, and I slashed my sword across the face of the man that did not have my journal. The man gave a cry of pain and surprise, reaching up his free hand towards the wound.

"Time to finish this." sneered the other man.

Before I could do anything more than turn towards him, my sword already lifting to block his blow, the man plunged his sword into my chest. Time seemed to slow down. As if in slow-motion, I felt his sword slide into me, neatly parting my flesh, organs, and bones on either side of it as it created a void in my body, its blade eventually protruding from my back on the other side when it was hilt-deep before me.

I fell to my knees an looked up at the intruders with utmost loathing, just as the door burst open once more and Haytham ran inside the room. I watched as his eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene before him. I silently begged him to turn around and run away, back to his mother and find Jenny, and then the three of them would escape the house together. I was done for; surely Haytham knew that?

Of course, I had trained him too well. His eyes burning with rage, he flew at my attacker, his sword still buried in my chest. The man drops its hilt, and I fell to the floor. Both men were caught by surprise; it seems neither we're prepared for a nine, almost ten year old, to attack them with a sword he probably picked up from one of the dead attackers.

I tried to call out to him, to tell him to run away, but a gob of blood spewed from my mouth, and my voice was lost.

The second man walked up behind Haytham, as the child continued to make his attacks on my killer, and I watched as he swung his arm, his knuckles making contact with Haytham's temple. My son collapsed on the floor across from me, his eyes slightly out of focus, his lids half closed.

Rage boiled in my stomach, but I could do nothing. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. I could only feel two things; rage and terrible pain.

Eventually Haytham's eyes widened, and they focused on me. We made eye contact, and I once again tried to speak, my hand reaching out towards him. I tried to tell him to get away while he still could. I tried to tell him that I was done for, and that he should save himself, his mother, and his sister while he still could. Most of all, I tried to tell him that I loved him.

"Father." Haytham whispered.

Before anything else could happen, however, my killer reached out and grabbed his sword. He pulled it out of me, my body writhing in excruciating pain. My mouth opened in a silent scream, before falling into a grimace as the sword completely exited my body. And I could feel and think no more.


	4. Chapter 4: Ezio

**November 30, 1524**

"I wish I had more time with them." I said wistfully, looking at Sophia and Flavia as they turned from the stall they were shopping at, before the white fog around us blocked them from view.

"Don't we all, _fratellino?_ But do not fret, Ezio. They will come to join you in a while." Federico said, "As all do." he added, a look of sadness crossing over his face momentarily before disappearing.

I would never forget my last glimpse of the living world. Firenze, beautiful Firenze, where I was born, and where I died, the streets full of people bustling about, oblivious to everything accept for their own little worlds. Flavia and Sophia looking at a mask at one of the stalls, Flavia babbling excitedly over something, her hands gesturing enthusiastically as she did so, Sophia nodding patiently at her, a warm smile gracing her lips. That was what I wanted to remember. I didn't want to remember the death I caused, or the chaos that came with the life of an assassin.

I turned my gaze towards Federico again. I couldn't believe it was him. He was exactly as I remembered, from so many years before. He was even wearing the same clothes I seemed to recall he was wearing on the day of his death. He watched me, amused, his arms crossed over his chest.

Suddenly I became aware of how much older I seemed than my elder brother. Federico was still twenty. I, on the other hand, was in my mid sixties. I reached out my left hand before me, spreading out my fingers, looking at how wrinkled they were, the spots that showed my age, and how the veins beneath my skin seemed to protrude slightly.

"_How did this happen?_" I wondered silently.

However, just as the thought crossed my mind, I felt a shiver go through me, and all of the signs of aging disappeared from my hand. I grinned, at the end, feeling younger than I had in ages. I was young once more. Federico returned my grin easily, and clapped me on the back, hard. I didn't care though. Even though I would miss my beautiful wife and my two children, I felt more relaxed and more at rest than I had in ages. I felt at peace. I felt... pure.

"It's a good life I lead, brother." I said, remembering an almost long-forgotten race to the top a church, so many years ago.

"But all good things must come to an end." Federico sighed.

We stood in silence for a moment or so. I watched the swirling, marble-white fog that surrounded us, obscuring where Firenze had been moments before.

"We should get going." Federico said finally, breaking the silence.

"Get going?" I repeated, reveling in how young I sounded again, "Get going where?"

Federico looked faintly surprised. "To see everyone else, of course. No doubt Petruccio wants to talk your ear off about something or another, and I know that _padre e lo zio_ are eager to speak to you about your work leading the brotherhood. Not to mention," Federico's face split into a grin, and he elbowed me in the side. "there's Christina, too."

My eyebrows shot up, and I looked up at my older brother. "Christina?"

"Of course, she knows about Sophia, but-" Federico began.

"I don't care. I want to see her." I interrupted.

Federico nodded. "Of course." he punched me in the side again and continued, "Come on, Ezio. Lets go home."

* * *

I know, I know, it's rather short. Don't worry, though. Next will be dear old Altair, and then the series will be over. Although I may or may not do Malik, depending on what mood I'm in. Yes, I know Malik wasn't a playable character, and therefore the description would be a lie, but I think his death would be interesting to write about (even if it made me want to throw _the Secret Crusade _across the room when I read about it.) Just tell me what you think. :)


	5. Chapter 5: Altaïr

**August 12th, 1257**

I'm tired. I am so very tired.

My life has stretched on to unnatural lengths, greatly lengthened by the Apple of Eden, along with the lives of the people around me. My eldest son, Darim, for example. Even before Malik and Maria had been murdered, the three of us were well into our sixties, and it was even unusual to live to that age. Especially for assassins. But to live to age ninety two...

My body ached with age, and I could feel my life dimming. It did not sadden me. On the contrary, I was somewhat grateful. I was ready to move on. I _had_ been ready to move on for many years; many decades. I had outlived my wife, my best friend, and my youngest son, Sef. There was nothing _here_ for me anymore. Not even Darim, who was getting on in years himself. He didn't need his father anymore. He hadn't for many years.

I often found myself wishing that I would fall asleep one night and never wake up. I tried to ignore my disappointment when I did, in fact, wake up in the mornings.

I stood in the entrance hall before my library, watching as my only remaining family member, Darim, approached me. In the glint of the torch light around us, I could see that his once dark hair, that was so like his mother's, had fragments of gray in it. My own hair, once a warm brown, was now completely silvery-white.

"You have seen to my books?" I asked.

"Yes," my son said, "Some we sent with the Polos. The rest will go with me, to Alexandria."

"Good." I said quietly, nodding my head slightly, "Very good."

"Father, I don't understand." said Darim suddenly. I looked at him as he continued, "Why did you build a library if you did not intend to keep your books-?"

I cut him off. "You should go. When the Mongols return, Masyaf must be empty."

"I see." said Darim, crossing his arms over his chest, "This is not a library at all; it's a vault."

My eyes flicked away from my son's face, towards the small brown sack I held in my hand. I lifted it slightly, feeling how oddly light it was. I did not need to ask what he meant it as a vault for, because we both knew; the Apple of Eden.

"It must stay hidden, Darim." I said quietly, "From eager hands. At least until it has passed on the secret it contains."

I thought about all of the chaos it had caused in my lifetime alone. The events of Solomon's Temple. When Al Mualim used it to control the minds of the people of Masyaf. Abbas attempting to steal it. The death of Maria... All that chaos... All that grief... I knew that if people knew its location, the Templars especially, they would attempt to seize it, and I can't let that happen. I figured that it would be safer, far below the fortress, where it could safely fade away from history, to be forgotten.

"What secret?" asked Darim, taking a small step forward.

"Go, son." I said sadly, "Go be with your family, and live well."

Darim took another step forward, and we quickly embraced. "All that is good in me began in you, father." he said into my ear quietly.

We broke apart, and made eye contact one last time. I gave him a small, sad, ghost of a smile, before stepping back onto the downward sloping hallway that lead to my now empty library. I pulled a lever, and the door shut between us, cutting me off from Darim, and the rest of the world, for what would likely be the last time.

I walked down the hallway slowly, extinguishing the torches lining the walls around me as I went, the voices of the people I had once known echoing in my mind as I went along as fast as my ancient body would allow.

"In much wisdom, is much grief." said the voice of Al Mualim, "And he that increasith knowledge, increasith sorrow."

"What does it tell you?" asked Maria, "What do you see?"

His own voice spoke up in reply to his wife's questions. "Strange visions and messages. Of ones who came before... Of their rise, and their fall..."

"But what happens to _us_, Altaïr?" Maria said, "To our family? What does the Apple say?"

"_Who were the ones who came before?_" I asked myself, jolting back to the present, "_What brought them here? How long ago?_"

Next I hear both Maria and Malik attempting to convince me to rid myself of the Apple, their voices telling me that it isn't healthy to be dwelling on it for as long as I have, and that I should abandon my studies of it completely. Maria sounds desperate. Malik sounds irritated. The one-armed Dai even suggests that I pitch it off of a tower, into the river below. I argue, of course. I tell them to say I sent it away somewhere, if they are questioned on it. I insist that no one must ever know that the Apple is here, until the time is right.

I place the Apple carefully on a pedestal before closing the secret wall panels, blocking it from view, locking it away for what I hoped would be a very long time.

I took a deep breath and sighed, placing my left hand on the wall where the Apple was now hidden behind. I bowed my head slightly towards the ground. I was exhausted, more exhausted than I had ever been in my entire life. My work was done. Maybe now I can rest. Even for just a moment.

I turned from the wall, and slowly made my through my darkened library, to the small chair in the very center of the room. I pushed at the cushions hesitantly before sitting down with another sigh. On an impulse, I reached with my right hand and pulled out the final key to the library from within my robes. It glowed faintly, like a candle in the darkness around me.

I settled into the chair, an odd sort of coldness settling over me. I closed my eyes, so I did not see the beginning tendrils of white fog begin to creep around the room, nor did I see the shape of a person materialize before me, watching me.

When I did open my eyes again, at first I assumed it was another illusion created by the Apple. It wouldn't be the first time that it did something like that, feeding off of my memories to produce images of the people closest to me, that I had lost. However, this one seemed different some how. For one thing, I wasn't actually holding the Apple when this image appeared. For another, the image didn't have the tell-tale golden glow around him.

Malik wore his Dai robes and he had his arms- both of them- crossed over his chest as he looked at me. He looked young again, about in his mid-twenties. It made me sigh in relief, for he looked much better than when I last saw him alive.

I gaped up at him; I couldn't quite believe it. "Malik?" I whispered.

"Altaïr." he greeted.

I looked down at my old, withered hands, and then back towards the man standing before me. To my surprise, Malik cracked a small smile.

"It's good to see you again." said Malik, a hint of amusement in his voice, "You've gotten old."

"I don't understand." I said, "Why are you here?"

"I've come to take you to the others." said Malik.

I released a quiet sigh through my nose. "So, I suppose this is it, then?"

"I'm afraid so." said Malik. There was a slight pause before he added, "You don't look too disappointed."

I wasn't. In a way, I was relieved. "I suppose not."

The white fog was thicker now; I could barely see my library anymore. My hands gripped the chair tightly. I couldn't stop staring at Malik. It had been so many years since I had seen him last, and the last time I saw him he wasn't exactly... well. He looked stronger and happier than I had seen him for even a few decades before his death.

"Are you ready to go?" Malik asked eventually.

I didn't hesitate before answering, "Yes."

Malik offered me his hand, and he pulled me to my feet. As he did so, I could feel years of age and hardship fall away from me. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I looked at my hands again to find them as young and wrinkle-free as they had been sixty six years ago. My eyes widened slightly, and I looked back at Malik, who looked amused.

"Come on, Altaïr. Lets go." said Malik, starting to turn away, and beckoning for me to follow, "Everyone's waiting."

* * *

I'm sorry that took so long to post! I had intended to do it AGES ago, but I didn't really have the time...

Any-who, this is the official ending to this series, but I may end up writing about Malik's death, mostly because I think it would be interesting (if kind of cruel) to write about, what with the beheading and all. Just let me know if you're interested.

And about the thing with the Apple extending Altaïr's life... well, that was the best explanation I could come up with for him living to ninety-two, where as the people in that time period tended to live to about age forty. They were considered to be long-lived if they made it to fifty. Ninety-two was unheard of.

I already have another series planned out, so keep an eye out for when I post it. :)


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